"Yes," replied Mabel; "she was an old friend of mine, and not being well off, or in good health, I have offered to educate her children for nothing." Mrs. Villars opened her eyes. "Thus you see, aunt, I shall be able to do very well; for my little fortune, small as it is, will keep me in dress." Mrs. Villars smiled kindly, saying, that though Mabel had not been perfectly candid, still she rejoiced to hear that she had not been left without resources, as she had imagined. This speech was spoken so smoothly, that Mabel was puzzled. "Surely aunt there was nothing left for me to tell--the only money I have, is in your hands, and when you can conveniently let me have it, or part of it, I shall carry my plan into execution." "There must be some mistake in this, my dear. I have no money of yours, except the half sovereign you kindly lent me the other morning. What do you mean?" She was astonished; but she answered quickly, though respectfully-- "I am speaking of the six hundred pounds my mamma lent you, from time to time; and which you promised to keep safely for me." "I promised, my dear," said Mrs. Villars, with well feigned astonishment. "I never said or thought of such a thing; but I will tell you how this mistake arose. I did borrow the sums you mention, from time to time, as you say, and you may remember, when your poor dear mother and I met last." The lightning flashed in her eyes, and she covered them with her hands; but the rain had begun to patter against the window, and the thunder rolled, at longer intervals; as the storm abated, she became bolder, and continued--"Well, at that time, we were very long alone, as, perhaps, you remember. Then she said to me--I remember the very words, and where she was sitting, poor thing--'Caroline,' she said, 'I never had the courage to tell you, that I have often vexed so deeply, to think that, when I married, I accepted a larger portion from our father's generosity than he gave you; and I shall never die happy till I have made it up to you--in order to do that, I shall cancel all your obligations to me, and give you a hundred more to-day.' I begged her to think of her children, and the answer she made was remarkable. 'I would rather leave them honesty than money.' It was so like her, poor thing." Here she put her handkerchief to her eyes, while Mabel watched her with mingled pity, contempt, and indignation. "Well, my dear, she went to her old secretary--you remember it, I am sure."--Of course she did, a thousand remembrances clung to every old-fashioned article of that dear home; but duplicity and cunning were before her, and she was too shocked to think of them now--"From that secretary," continued her aunt, "she took a bundle of papers. I saw my own writing, at once, and knew them to be the securities, that is, the written promises I had given her for the money. I stretched out my hand to take them, but she put it back, while she threw the papers in the fire."